For this prompt :
Gen, s7. The breaking of the Wall let out a lot of things better left alone, memories not the greatest of them. Sam's powers come flooding back, more powerful and violent than ever, warped and twisted by his time in Hell. And with Satan vision playing on repeat overtop of everything he sees, he's having trouble discerning friend from foe, threat from civilian... and Lucifer used Dean's face a lot, in the Pit.
Sam had been fighting. He'd been anything but passive since his Hell-wall came tumbling apart. He could feel his sanity slipping. He could feel himself getting worse and he fought, he fought so damn hard to get better.
In an ironic twist, his memories of his soulless year were actually some of the most helpful tools he had at his disposable. Amidst all the remorseless killings, a year of hunting without hesitation, without pity, there was an incredibly pure, remarkably strong will for survival. Some base animal need to keep living. He could call on that need, he could force himself to shut everything out and focus on that. He could bring his splintered vision to heel and force his senses back into the confines of reality...but it was getting harder. Every day, it got harder.
He and Dean were better than they'd been in a while. They were united, and trying their damnedest to keep going despite everything -- Castiel, Amy, the Leviathans. They were doing well too until the night of the crash.
It was the damnedest thing, really. They were tired. They were both tired. They were trying to get back to Rufus's cabin to meet up with Bobby after traveling four states away on a hunt. Bobby called them and said he needed their help so they drove quickly, and they drove long hours -- longer than they should have. Sam had asked Dean if they shouldn't pull over and rest for a few hours. Dean almost agreed, but his face twitched briefly, shadowed with guilt and he'd said, "No Sammy, it's okay, I'm good. We gotta get to Bobby. It's just ten more hours."
The deer came out of nowhere. It was so dark...the road they were on was surrounded by nothing but trees. Dean swerved at the last moment, and didn't see the truck coming around the bend. He couldn't have seen it.
They were lucky really. The Impala flipped over onto the side of the road, but the trees kept her from rolling too far down. They were lucky, but they'd both been injured. Sam opened his eyes and saw Dean, bleeding from his temple. He called out for him, tried to free him from the seatbelt wrapped around his arm and his throat, but when he reached for him, his head hurt, it pounded and echoed and felt like it was leaking and then everything went black.
It might have been a concussion. It might have been swelling. It didn't really matter. Sam's skull had taken far too many beatings over the years, and his brain wasn't healthy for a whole myriad of reasons. The crash changed him. He was aware of it sometimes. Other times, he couldn't really tell, and he didn't really care.
Lucifer thought it was all hilarious. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching Sam sleep and grinned when he opened his eyes. Sam closed his eyes again more often than not, wishing the Devil away, but he never left, never, never, never. He was infinitely patient. He always had been.
"How long are you gonna lay there Sammy?" Lucifer asked on Tuesday, or maybe Wednesday. Sam wasn't sure what day it was anymore. He thought he remembered Dean saying it was Monday though...and that hadn't been too long ago, so --
"This is pathetic. Get up."
Sam had to unstick his tongue, and wet his lips before he could speak, which meant he was dehydrated, probably. Maybe he'd been sleeping for more than a day. "If I get up, will you go away?"
Lucifer laughed, "Sam. You know the answer to that. I'll never go away. It's you and me. Forever."
Sam wasn't surprised, he wasn't even angry anymore really. He knew what he had to do. He had to just focus on what was real and then Lucifer would fade away. He had to remind himself, ground himself.
He sat up and instantly regretted it as his vision swam. Concussion then. He looked around the room he was in slowly, trying not to make the dizziness any worse. It wasn't Rufus's cabin. It was a hotel room of some sort, but nicer than they're usual fare.
"Yeah. Dean went all out." Lucifer cocked his head, "Such a sweet, thoughtful guy."
Sam gingerly moved his legs and turned around so they were hanging off the edge of the bed. He felt like he was going to throw up for a few seconds, closed his eyes, realized that only made it worse, opened them again and brought the room back into focus. He stood up, and put his hand on the wall.
"Remember Detroit, Sam? Remember right after you said 'yes'?" Lucifer stood right behind Sam, whispering in his head. "Remember how good it felt? How strong you were?"
Sam laughed angrily, "No. It felt horrible."
Lucifer scoffed, "Right. That's why you dream about it so often. Why you dream about me, about what we could have been..."
"Shut up!" Sam snapped, "You're not real, and I don't want to hear this, so just shut up." He kept pushing himself along the wall and made it to the door of the little bathroom.
"It's still in you, you know. That power, that strength." Lucifer said, "I'm still in you. I always will be."
Sam moved towards the sink and turned on the faucet. He let the cold water run over the insides of his wrists. It felt good, it felt real. He leaned forward, cupped his hands together and brought the cold water up to his face over and over again. He stood back up, looked in the mirror and froze.
Dean couldn't open the door quickly enough. He'd had a horrible feeling all the way back from the drugstore. He hadn't wanted to leave Sam by himself, but he had to go get supplies. He needed more bandages and more painkillers. He threw the door open and felt his heart go into overdrive. Sam's bed was empty.
"Sam?" He called out, "Sammy?"
He heard the sound of glass shattering and ran to the bathroom, dropping the bag of supplies on the floor.
Sam was on the floor in the bathroom, knees drawn up, clutching his head and whispering to himself.
The mirror was shattered -- shards of it all over the counter, in the sink, on the floor.
"Sammy?" Dean said again, quietly. He reached for Sam's hand, "You okay?"
"No, no, no, no." Sam whispered, over and over, pressing his head down further between his knees.
"It's okay, Sammy. What happened?"
Sam's head snapped up. "No." he said, "You don't get to use his face. Not him. Not again. Not again."
Dean would've said something, anything, to convince Sam he was really Dean, and not whatever Sam was seeing, but he couldn't get a word out. He couldn't do anything but stare at Sam's eyes. They were pitch black. Sam grabbed Dean and growled at him, "Not him. Not his face. Not his voice. Not him. Not again. I won't let you."
Dean tried to tell him, he tried but he couldn't. He couldn't. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He tried to get up, but he couldn't. His body was locked into place. He started trembling as understanding hit him. Sam wouldn't let him speak. Sam wouldn't let him move.
"You can do whatever you want to me. Slice me into pieces, throw me back into the flames, feed me my heart, but you will never get to use his face again, you hear me?" Sam snarled the last few words, and Dean felt his skin tear. He could feel blood run down his temple, out of his ears, out of his eyes. He didn't understand what was happening exactly, but he understood enough. Sam was pissed and his mojo had come flaring back to life and right now it was trying to tear him apart.
Sam. he thought desperately. Sammy, please. It's me, don't do this.
Sam glared at him and brought his hand up to Dean's face.
Dean had the horrible thought that Sam would try to pull the rest of his skin off of his skull. He closed his eyes for lack of anything better to do.
Then he heard Sam suck in a sharp breath. He opened his eyes again and found Sam staring at his own fingers. Sam's hands were blood slicked. Dean looked around and saw a whole cluster of the mirror shards on the floor next to where Sam was sitting. There was blood on some of them. Sam had cut himself on the shards.
"I didn't..." Sam was whispering, "I didn't. I don't --" His head whipped around, and he stared out the bathroom door at something only he could see and hear.
Lucifer was leaning against the door frame. He didn't look like Dean anymore, he didn't look like Nick -- he looked like he had in Stull Cemetery. He looked like Sam.
Sam stood up and walked towards Lucifer. "I didn't drink any blood. I didn't."
Lucifer smirked, "You sure?" He shook his head, "I don't know, your hands look pretty red to me, but then what do I know?"
Sam shook his head vehemently, "No. I didn't. I haven't. Not since Detroit. Not since --"
"Can I ask you something?" Lucifer cut him off. "Would it matter if you had? I mean really -- you think you're less of a freak, less of a monster because you haven't had any more blood to drink? Your brother just saw you with black eyes. You were peeling off his skin with your mind and you're worried about whether or not you drank some blood?"
Sam stared at Lucifer, stared at himself, for a few more seconds and then turned back to the bathroom. Dean was there, sitting on the floor, and he was bleeding. Christ, he was bleeding.
Sam ran to Dean and fell to his knees next to him, "Dean?"
Dean opened his mouth, and coughed blood. Then, with relief, he said, "Yeah Sammy. It's me. You okay?"
Sam looked over his shoulder, but Lucifer was gone. He turned back to Dean, "No. No I'm not okay." Tears ran down Sam's cheek as he grabbed Dean's face, trying to see all the damage he'd caused, "I -- shit Dean, I did this to you." He sat on the floor and backed against the wall across from Dean. "You need to go. I'm not. I'm not safe"
Dean coughed again, and smiled. "Sam. I'm not going anywhere."
It was all Sam could do to keep from sobbing. Dean's teeth were covered in blood, and his face, his face was covered in gashes and it was all because of him, and he just couldn't...
"Sammy..." Dean said, trying to get Sam to look him in the eyes. Sam was looking away from him, his shoulders trembling. His eyes were green again though, and that was what mattered. He'd be fine, they'd be fine, they just had to take it easy for a few days and they'd be --
Dean woke up hazy. Panic flooded him quickly though and cleared the grogginess away. He remembered Sam, and the look in his eyes. He sat up and looked around the room. The other bed was empty. The room was empty. Sam was gone.
Sam had been fighting. He'd been fighting this for so long, and he'd been doing pretty well, all things considered.
After the crash though, he couldn't...he just couldn't pull himself back down anymore. He'd hurt Dean. He'd hurt him, and he'd thought it was Lucifer, and he just couldn't.
There was one thing he could do. He could run. He could get away, he could find somewhere, somewhere away from people, somewhere hidden where nobody would find him. He could hide and he could try to keep fighting, but he wouldn't risk Dean. He wouldn't risk hurting him again.
Sam's feet hit the ground over and over as he ran. He ran deeper into the woods, kept going until he couldn't hear the road anymore. All he heard was the pounding of his feet...and Lucifer. The Devil was keeping pace with him. He could hear him laughing, he could hear him whispering, "You can't outrun me Sam. You can't outrun yourself. You can't fight me forever. Just stop, just stop."
He wouldn't stop though. He wouldn't stop. He couldn't. Because if he did, then Lucifer was right, and then...then he wouldn't stop.
on to part 2